


Lonely Like Me

by CommanderCryptic



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Complete, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentions of non-con, Romance, Songfic, unless...?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:35:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27519994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CommanderCryptic/pseuds/CommanderCryptic
Summary: Alfred F. Jones has finally escaped from an abusive relationship, only to find himself broken. Emotionally and physically.Meanwhile, Arthur Kirkland struggles with his already precarious relationship and separates himself from it, only to find himself lonely. Lonely...Forever?A chance encounter at a party and a few drinks later, the two realize that their melancholy fates are not set in stone.Based on the song "Broken" by lovelytheband.
Relationships: America/England (Hetalia), Canada/Prussia (Hetalia), Denmark/Norway (Hetalia)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 44





	1. Gone

**Author's Note:**

> The inspiration for this one hit me like a truck, isekai style. Here's "Broken," it'd be nice if you'd give it a listen.
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/album/2AbPwLvpR0FwpqGt4ZY1q4?highlight=spotify:track:6XcfKZvJio9Z0fQy11GnNX
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_yX_z1j6yzs
> 
> Anyways, enjoy!

**_I like that you're broken,_ **

**_Broken like me._ **

_**Maybe that makes me a fool...** _

* * *

Alfred felt empty. Like his entire mind, body, and soul was just disconnected from him, somehow. His body was weak and sore, with stabs of pain shooting through his lower half at every attempt at movement. 

He lifted his hand and wiped a drop of sweat from his forehead. There was a ring of greyish-blue around his wrist, a mark that Alfred wished desperately that he could get rid of. 

How did he allow himself to be dominated, this way? He was stronger than that. And most importantly, why was he so oblivious to everything before?

Slowly, Alfred sat up on the bed. His back hurt terribly, and a pounding headache was forming in his skull. He felt like throwing up once he caught the scent of vodka on the sheets. 

To his right was a tall man, still sleeping soundly. His violet eyes were shut; his thin lips drawn into a peaceful smile. He looked so innocent, so childlike. 

Alfred knew he was anything but. 

There was something else he knew. He needed to leave, and fast. Whatever was going on between them- he no longer wanted anything to do with it. The bruises, the pain, the manipulation, the torment—he was through. Alfred was so naive to the notion that some people just wanted to take advantage of him. Ivan Braginsky was one of them. 

They had only met about a month back at a house party that Matthias was hosting. Tino insisted on inviting Eduard, Eduard insisted on inviting Raivis, and Raivis insisted upon inviting Tolys. If those three were present, Ivan was bound to be present, too. 

Ivan seemed so kind, so caring. A genuinely sweet person. But that was only just a facade, and Alfred had to learn that the hard way. 

He had been taken advantage of. Scraped clean of his dignity, his pride, his happiness. Leaving a hollow shell of a person in its wake. 

Alfred glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand. The bright red numbers read out 1:09. It was very late at night. A perfect time to escape. 

He slowly eased himself out of the bed, praying that Ivan wouldn’t be able to notice the shift in weight. There was a large mirror attached to the wardrobe on the other wall, allowing Alfred to see his naked body. 

The sick feeling returned. But there was no more time to waste. Getting out of the apartment was his first priority.

Alfred quickly scanned the room for anything to wear, and soon found his clothes haphazardly strewn across the floor. He pulled them on in a hurry and scurried out of the bedroom.

Once Alfred approached the door, he came to a heavy realization. The door would certainly make a noise. Ivan would hear it, wake up, and then realize what his “partner” was trying to do. 

_Shit. What am I supposed to do? If he finds out that I’m trying to escape, I don’t even want to think about what might happen._

Alfred caught sight of a harness and whip laying on the couch, occasionally utilized Ivan to scare him into submission. The Russian would most certainly be putting them to use if he had the right motive. 

He drew in a breath, then let it out. 

_This won’t work. I can’t stay. I should at least try…_

Alfred placed a tentative hand on the doorknob and twisted it. As expected, the door let out a loud creak. Shuffling noises followed by footsteps could be heard coming from the bedroom. 

His heart skipped a beat. His blood turned into ice. 

**_Just leave! Leave! LEAVE!_ **

Alfred’s brain was screaming orders at him, orders that he was too distracted to follow. Numbing fear bubbled up inside him, threatening to spill. 

The bedroom door flung open, and Ivan exited with a coy smile on his face. 

“I suppose I could at least give you some credit for trying,” he drawled. In his right hand was a dented metal pipe. It was covered in blood, some fresh and some old. 

“N-no. Ivan, dude… I don’t want to do this anymore,” Alfred said, his voice wavering more than he would like. He inched towards the door, still ajar. He needed to be ready to bolt at the right moment. 

Ivan let out a humourless laugh that chilled Alfred right down to his sore bones. “And why should I care about that? Tell me, I am curious.” 

Alfred glared at Ivan, but couldn’t do much else. He was strong, but Ivan was much stronger. And taller. And on top of all of that, he was armed.

Ivan continued to advance towards him, his metal pipe raised and ready to make impact. 

And that’s when Alfred ran. He turned on his heel and sprinted out the door.

* * *

**_I like that you’re lonely,_ **

**_Lonely like me._ **

**_I could be lonely with you..._ **

* * *

Arthur couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Laying in his bed— _ their _ bed, was a tan-skinned, dark-haired woman with only the sheets covering her bare body. Next to her was none other than Francis, his hand rubbing the small of her back. 

_ Again. It happened, again.  _

“You’re unbelievable,” Arthur spat, his voice bitter and angry. His fingers were curled up into fists, fists that wanted so desperately to punch the French man in his so-called “beautiful” face. 

Francis’ eyes widened in surprise. He opened his mouth to speak. “ _ Mon ami, _ this isn’t what it looks like! Believe me!”

“I believed you when you said that the last time this happened. And the time before.” Arthur placed his hands on his hips, his green eyes narrowed in contempt. “I’d be a bloody idiot to believe you now.” 

Francis sighed and brushed a lock of blonde hair out of his face. “Well, then. Looks like the cat’s out of the bag, now.” 

Arthur looked down at his right hand. Sitting on his finger was a sleek band of precious metal. His engagement ring. He noticed that Francis wasn’t wearing his. 

“You lied to me. You told me you loved me.” Arthur felt his voice begin to shake. He waited for the hot string of tears to come, but it never did. “Apparently not. Francis, we’re done. For good.” He pulled the ring off his finger and tossed it to the bed, hoping that by chance it would hit Francis. It didn’t reach its target. 

Francis stared at the discarded ring, his expression strangely unreadable. “Fine. I didn’t love you anyway. You’re stiff, sour, and have no sense of adaptability. Don’t even get me started on your fashion sense!.”

Arthur scoffed, ignoring all of the insults that left Francis’ mouth. They didn’t hurt him. “That makes the two of us, then. I’m going to pack my things.”

As he collected his clothes from the shared wardrobe, Arthur couldn’t help but get confused at his own emotions. Francis had cheated on him. It was the third time, too. The first instance had also been with a woman, with the second one being with a man. 

Why wasn’t he more upset? Shouldn’t he be fuming? Instead, Arthur was just mildly annoyed. 

Was it because the same thing had happened so many times before? Or did he just… not care.

_ This isn’t love. This never was love.  _

Arthur was actually quite indifferent. His relationship with Francis was so lonely. What would change if they just broke up? He’d still be lonely. Nothing would change. 

_ Maybe I’m just doomed to be alone forever.  _

It was sad to think about. But at that moment, what else was there to think about? 

_ It’s fine. I’m completely fine being alone, that’s all! _

It wasn’t fine. But who else could he turn to if nobody else was lonely, like him? 

Arthur had finally finished “packing.” All his clothes and personal items had been shoved into a large, navy blue, duffel bag. It was heavy and next-to-impossible to carry. Arthur had gotten used to bearing the weight, though. Francis wasn’t exactly chivalrous to anybody who wasn’t a doe-eyed, plump-lipped woman. 

He gave one last look to Francis, who didn’t even want to protest Arthur’s declaration. Instead, the French man was paying attention to the woman. 

Arthur was offended by that. 

_ I just broke up with him, and that stupid frog cares more about his little toy.  _

“Goodbye, Francis. Don’t try to contact me again, because I assure you, if you even try, I’ll have my number changed in an instant.” His tone was like a brick, impossible to break apart without an incredible amount of force. “Oh, and social media won’t work either. That block button is looking awfully tempting, right now.” 

Francis sneered, attractive features distorted by the ugly facial expression. “As if I care.  _ Va t'en _ , Arthur.” 

Arthur wished he could stay just to ignore Francis’ request, but he knew he couldn’t be  _ that  _ petty. So he took his bag, collected the pieces of his broken trust, and left without uttering another word. 


	2. Overflow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes the floodgates just need to be opened.

“Oh, Alfred… I wasn’t expecting you,” Matthew said before fully opening his front door. “Are you okay?” he asked, taking notice of the frown on his brother’s usually happy face, as well as his rumpled clothes and messy hair. 

“Mhmm. Can I just... crash here for some time?” 

Matthew nodded and let Alfred come inside, but was still curious as to why he was here. Alfred’s apartment was too far from here. Couldn’t he just drive?

Matthew checked again. The car wasn’t there. He wrote it off, concluding that someone might have dropped him off.

Yet, there was still that nagging feeling planted deep inside his brain that there was something more to it. 

He could think of only one person who was the cause of all of this.

Matthew shut the door quietly and left the foyer, continuing back down the hallway into the living room. Sitting in the TV-lit space was his boyfriend, who popped another piece of popcorn into his mouth. 

“Gil? Do you know where Alfred went? I think I need to talk to him.”

Gilbert shook his head. “Nah, wasn’t really looking. He probably went to the guest room, though.” He pointed his thumb to the movie playing on the TV screen. “Want me to pause it? Not a lot has gone on so far, but—” 

“It’s fine, you keep watching,” Matthew interrupted before leaving the room in a hurry.

Gilbert watched as the blonde’s figure disappeared further down the hall. He hadn’t seen Matthew display such a mix of anxiety and concern in their 8 months of dating, yet. 

“Should I be worried?” Gilbert asked himself. Nobody responded. 

Matthew reached his hand towards the door. Was this an invasion of privacy? Would Alfred think he was just being annoying? 

He gritted his teeth, in hopes that it would push all of his doubts to the very back of his mind.  _ If something is wrong, I need to know. I’m his brother. If anything happened to him… _

A million different images flooded into his brain, illustrating all of the dire possibilities. Each one was more atrocious than the last. Matthew felt a shiver run down his spine, and judging by the thermostat nearby that read 75°, it wasn’t because of the cold. 

Matthew placed his palm on the cool brass knob and twisted it ever so gently. The door came open easily. 

Inside the guest bedroom, Alfred stood in front of the floor-length mirror. His chest was bare, revealing marks that made Matthew’s fears a harsh reality. 

Bruises, bites, scratches—none of them were from a rabid animal. 

_ I could only hope. _

They were from a  _ human.  _ Somebody actually had the nerve to do something like this, and judging by Alfred’s current disposition, the affection was only one-sided.

Matthew quickly came to a realization.

_ That’s assault. My twin brother was sexually assaulted. Perhaps even raped... _

All the colour drained from his face, painting his skin a ghostly white hue almost bearing a resemblance to Gilbert’s complexion. 

“Al.” Matthew’s voice was shaking, trembling like a leaf in the wind. He wished with all his heart that what he was seeing wasn’t real. He wished for a miracle, praying that he would eventually wake up from what was too horrible to be a nightmare. 

The biting reality of it all made it that much worse. 

Alfred’s blue eyes widened, registering emotion for what seemed to be the first time since he arrived. “I—Matt, it’s—”

Matthew shook his head. “Who was it. Tell me,” he insisted. It wasn’t even a question, anymore. Whoever could have done something as terrible as this… they wouldn’t get off easy. 

Alfred folded his arms around his torso, as if covering up the marks would erase what had already been seen. “Look, this isn’t—”

A sequence of events began to replay in Matthew’s mind. That night… the night of Matthias’ party. Matthew had searched the house, looking for his brother. He had stayed away from alcohol the entire time with the intent of being the one to drive them home. 

Alfred seemed to have disappeared. After asking around for a couple of minutes, Matthew came to the conclusion that somebody took him home. According to bystanders, the man was about 5’11 with a strong build. The next morning, Matthew had given his brother a call. Apparently, he was completely fine and had just started dating some Russian guy named Ivan. 

_ It  _ **_must_ ** _ have been him. God, I just can’t believe it. _

But he needed to believe it. That was the first step.

“It was him, wasn’t it.”

Alfred nodded slowly. 

Matthew sucked in a long breath. “I’ll call the police, first.” With shaking fingers, he reached into his pocket and removed his phone. On the keypad, he dialed in three numbers: 999. 

The phone rang for a second before the operator answered from the other end. 

“Brooklyn police department. What’s your issue?” asked a somewhat-feminine-sounding-but-still-male voice from the other end. 

“Hi, I’d like to file a report against…” 

Matthew placed his hand on the microphone and turned to face Alfred. “What’s his name?”

Alfred clasped his hands together and wringed them uncomfortably. His watery blue gaze remained trailed at the floor, brimming with tears that had been aching to shed. “Ivan. Braginsky.”

Matthew repeated the name to the officer, who muttered something in affirmation. 

“On the account of?” asked the officer. 

“Ah, one second.” Matthew muted himself like he did before and redirected his attention away from the call. “Alfred, I need you to answer this question honestly.”

Alfred pursed his lips. Typically, this was where he would have declared something along the lines “honesty is a hero’s number one trait,” but apparently his hero complex was on the brink of dissolving completely. 

_ Sure,  _ Matthew thought,  _ His behaviour is kind of annoying sometimes. But now, it’s like... it’s like… he’s losing pieces of himself. And it’s all Ivan’s fault.  _

“Did you and Ivan....” Matthew felt the words clog up his throat, making it almost impossible to communicate properly. A faint blush crept up the base of his neck, and he fought to keep it down. Instead of explaining, he hopes that his brother would know what he was referring to. 

Thankfully, he did. 

“Mhmm,” Alfred said. 

“Okay, another question,” Matthew started. “Was it consensual?” 

This time, it was Alfred’s turn to stutter. HIs pupils flickered from one side to another, his mouth opened and shut multiple times, until he finally managed to get a few words out of his mouth. “K-kind of?”

Matthew hardened his stare. “It was either consensual, or it wasn’t, Al.”

“Hello? Are you still, like, there, sir?” asked the officer from the other end of the phone. 

Matthew unmuted himself for a brief moment.“Yes, just a little bit longer,” he responded quickly before muting the microphone again. 

He stared into Alfred’s eyes, searching for anything that would hint that his brother was okay. Although, Matthew knew full well that he wasn’t. 

Nobody would be okay, after such a terrible experience. 

If he wasn’t concerned about legal consequences, Matthew would have gone right up to Ivan’s apartment and put him six feet under, himself. 

“I…” Alfred battled with internal conflict, his brain seeming to buffer. He felt violated. He felt so _wrong._ His entire body just felt like a jumbled mess of puzzle pieces. Broken. Alfred couldn’t even fathom how he would be able to put the pieces back together again. “N-No. No, it wasn’t consensual.”

Matthew felt another wave of nausea. It really was a lot worse than he had originally assumed. 

He brought his finger to the unmute button again, ready to add another accusation to the list. “Rape. Domestic abuse.” 

Those words were like poison in Matthew’s mouth. How could somebody’s mind be so twisted to even consider doing such a thing? How could a twisted mind collaborate so perfectly with a merciless body, actually forcing themself onto another? 

He didn’t know. He didn’t even  _ want  _ to know. 

“I see,” said the officer. He paused for a few seconds before saying something else. “Look, I know this might not be, like, professional, or whatever, but I really want to make sure the victim knows that… my heart goes out to them.”

Alfred perked up at his indirect mention. Even though the phone was already on speaker mode, Matthew brought it closer to his brother so he could hear it better. 

“Just, tell them that it’s totally not their fault, okay?” requested the officer, still not knowing that the victim was actually present on the other end. “If you need any help, or support, remember to just ask.” 

“Thanks,” Alfred interrupted. “So much.”

Another pause could be heard from the other end of the phone. “You’re welcome. Things’ll get better, I promise. But, about the perpetrator…” The officer typed something into a keyboard and the muffled voice of another person registered into the audio. “We’re currently looking into it. There’s a good chance he’ll be taken into custody on the spot, but the trial date is to be determined.” 

“Okay. Thank you, officer.”

“Of course.”

And then Matthew hung up.

Alfred allowed his tears to finally drip, cascading down his splotchy red cheeks like salty waterfalls. “God… I…”

Matthew said nothing but instead wrapped his hands around his brother in a tight hug. “Let it out. Like the officer said, none of it was your fault. He’s going to…” A vague image of a man with violet eyes and a grim smile flashed through his head. 

_ So I have seen him before.  _

His body stiffened at the thought of Alfred’s abuser and former “romantic” partner. 

“God... I…” Another sob escaped Alfred’s mouth, making his words almost incomprehensible. “T-This is wrong. It’s all wrong. Why did I—why did he—”

“They’re going to lock him up. He’s going to pay, don’t worry.”

Would he? Like the officer said, the chances of Ivan being arrested were quite high. But what would happen when this was taken to court? Would he still be found guilty?

Everything was still up in the air, refusing to come down. 

_ Why didn’t I do anything, earlier? _

Matthew had known the two were in some kind of relationship, though he didn’t put too much thought into it thinking it was none of his business. Alfred had been spending an awful lot of time over at the other man’s place and sometimes wouldn’t even come back until the first few early hours of daylight. 

Alfred held onto his brother tighter, like a drifting sailboat in need of an anchor. A broken sailboat that had somehow managed to survive a world-shattering shipwreck.

The door opened with a telltale creak, revealing an inquisitive-looking man with white hair and a confused facial expression. 

Matthew made eye contact with Gilbert but didn’t dare break from the hug. He mouthed “not now,” to his boyfriend, who immediately left and closed the door behind him. 

Meanwhile, Alfred had his own eyes squeezed shut and blurred with tears. All he had wanted was somebody he could love. Somebody who he could care for, somebody that would care for him. His brother had somebody, like that. Why shouldn’t he?

Ivan was certainly not that somebody. He had taken advantage of Alfred’s desperation in one of the cruelest ways possible. 

It had broken him. Shattered his heart and soul, numbing him of hope and warmth. 

**_Broken._ **

Broken in more than one way. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I really hope the chapters so far don't romanticize rape/domestic abuse/sexual assault because that's the entire opposite of what I'm trying to do. All three of these things are crimes, and they are unarguably horrible. If you or somebody you know is experiencing something similar or in an abusive relationship, please tell somebody and try to seek help! It's never your fault.


	3. Rebound

Arthur felt a sharp sting in his throat. He hadn’t been paying too much attention and accidentally let the alcohol go down the wrong way. A label was slapped on the aluminum can of beer, reading a company name that he couldn’t be bothered to make out in his blurry vision. He was practically seeing double at that point. 

“God… I’m pathetic…” Arthur mumbled to himself. He leaned back further into the couch and grabbed the nearest object he could find (which just so happened to be a hardcover novel) and bang it over his head multiple times. This action did nothing except give him a small, red, welt on his forehead. 

He sat up and flung the book away, cursing it in slurred and vulgar language. It hit the wall with a resonating  _ thud.  _ Arthur rubbed his eyes and blinked a few times. The living room was a total mess. 

It wasn’t even  _ his  _ living room, either. He had been living with Francis ever since they got engaged. Once they broke things up (which was inevitable, really,) Arthur had to move out. He wasn’t quite ready to buy his own place just yet, so he decided to move in with his older brother. 

“Well, this ain’t that big of a surprise,” said a loud, heavily accented voice from the front door. Arthur spun his head around quickly to see who it was. 

The man smirked. “Y’got wasted without me, eh?” 

Utilizing the few motor-skills he had left, Arthur crumpled the empty can in his hand and tossed it away with the same motion he had used earlier with the novel. 

“Don’t want t’hear it, Conner.”

Conner threw his head back in a laugh. “Right, right. I’m not gonna mother ya, but drowning yourself in that stuff isn’t gonna do shit.” He gestured to the growing pile of empty cans in the corner of the room.

Arthur grumbled something incoherent and rolled his eyes. He really should have been trying to find a job so he could eventually move out and get his own place, but he really didn’t feel like going out that day, or ever again, really. 

Conner frowned and crossed his arms over his chest. “Look, you’re a full-grown man. If you’re gonna come here to crash for a few nights be my guest, but,” He stood near the arm of the couch and looked down at his intoxicated younger brother. “I don’t like freeloaders.”

Arthur stared at Conner for a few moments. He was about a head and a half taller than him with red hair instead of blonde. Above his similar-coloured eyes were a pair of comically defined eyebrows, drawn into a v shape. 

“Mm. There’s a cafe near Lawrence street. I’ll check if they need any employees there.”

For some time, Conner looked like he actually believed what Arthur was saying. Until the realization settled in. 

Arthur was drunk. How exactly could he remember a detail like that, let alone accurately? 

“Arthur,” Conner said slowly. “That’s a homeless shelter.” 

Arthur shrugged. Normally he would have cringed at even the thought of making such a fool of himself, but in his alcohol-induced stupor, he couldn’t bother to care. 

“Then I’ll just ask the homeless people what to do. G’night.” Arthur let his flushed face sink into the couch cushion as the consciousness was slowly ripped from his mind. 

Conner ran a hand through his already-disheveled hair. He turned on his heel and left the living room, but not before sparing one last glance at the torpid body sprawled out on the sofa. 

In a quick change of plans, Conner turned around again to approach the couch. He grabbed a throw blanket from the ground and placed it on top of his brother. 

“Damn, Arthur… what did that Francis do to you?”

“Nah… I’m sorry, but I just can’t right now. You told me you’d be collecting on the 30th. I still have the rest of the month.”

Arthur felt a throb of pain in his head. His arm shot up to the sore area, rubbing it tenderly. He squeezed his eyes shut then opened them again, waiting a moment for his bleary vision to clear up. 

The all-too-familiar toss of his stomach in combination with his pounding headache reminded clued Arthur in on his predicament. The smell of alcohol on his own breath furthered the conclusion. 

_ Classic me. Getting wasted off some beer… not even the good-quality kind. All because of… _

The image of a certain person’s face came to mind. A smirking, devilishly good-looking face, with a small stubble of a beard and rose-like lips. 

A spark of anger ignited deep inside his bones, threatening to erupt into a flame. Arthur refused to let that happen. 

_ I’m not gonna get hung up over that froggy twit. He didn’t love me, I didn’t love him. Simple enough.  _

It wasn’t simple. Arthur’s loneliness stemmed from something… something he had quickly been able to write off as something too complicated to even fathom.

It felt like there was a gaping hole in his chest where his heart should be. A hole that he couldn’t fill… 

He thought of those spicy summer nights spent with Francis underneath the bedsheets. 

_ Not with pleasure. _

He thought of those sleepless winter nights spent watching rom-coms on the television. 

_ Not with distraction.  _

Arthur’s eyes traveled across the room, to the pile of discarded beer cans. There were around 6 in the stack. 

_ Not even with alcohol.  _

_ So then… _

_ What am I missing? _

The answer was clear as day, screaming at Arthur in capital letters. 

Love. He was missing love. He had never lost it, and he had never found it. It was like he was trapped inside some endless paradox; an inescapable cycle of misery. 

Arthur began to recall more and more of the events that had unfolded earlier. 

Francis had said some things. They were all tucked around the words “ _ I didn’t love you anyways _ ,” words that were  _ supposed  _ to heart Arthur. Surprisingly enough, that wasn’t the case. 

What really did seem to get under his skin were the insults. 

_ “You’re stiff, sour, and have no sense of adaptability.” _

Arthur had led himself into a drunken stupor for the sake of forgetting. Yet, ironically enough, he would always remember that slander. It stung much more than he would like to admit. 

_ I might be a little stubborn at times, but I can adapt!  _

_ Or at least I think... _

An idea flashed inside Arthur’s thoughts, almost too quick to catch on. 

_ I need a rebound.  _

Rebound relationships typically weren’t meant to be long-term investments. They were like warm-ups before a big game, like a practice round. 

_ And god knows I need the practice.  _

“No, that’s not what I— Bloody hell, you’re not making any sense! I remember that you—”

Conner’s voice rang out in Arthur’s ears, and not exactly in a pleasant way. 

His brother paced around the kitchen, still adamantly arguing with whoever was on the other end of the line. 

Finally, he sighed. 

“Fine. I’ll see what I can do.” Conner hung up and caught sight of his younger brother, who was still very much awake. 

“Looks like Sleeping Beauty’s with us again,” the redhead exclaimed at an attempt at a joke. 

Arthur didn’t laugh. “Conner… who was that?”

Conner’s meek smile faded. “It’s uh—nobody.”

“So you had a conversation with nobody,” Arthur said incredulously. 

“Well, you’ve got imaginary friends, too! Like that flying mint fellow you’re always going on about.”

Arthur scowled. “Flying mint bunny is very much real, I’ll have you know! Just like whoever you were talking to.”

From what he could hear, the conversation was far from positive. 

“Right, then, if y’really wanna know,” Conner let his shoulders drop and leaned against the countertop. “It was the landlord. Spouting some nonsense about how I should’ve had the rent ready by now… absolute bullshit, need I add.”

Dread seeped into Arthur’s mind, slowly making him more and more aware. Conner worked a basic office job somewhere downtown, on a 9 to 5. He had thought it would be enough to keep himself afloat, but with the added expenses of an additional person in their apartment made it difficult to even make ends meet. 

“Oh...”

Arthur’s hopes of getting into a rebound were shattered. It would be in his and his older brother’s best interest to find a job soon. This made finding love and satiating his aching, lonely, heart a mere redundancy. 

He tossed the blanket aside and got up off the couch, trying to steady himself before taking his first few steps. 

“Oi! Where'd you think  _ you _ ’re going?” Conner demanded. “You sure you’re sober?”

Arthur nodded and slipped on his shoes. He couldn’t see his reflection, but he could tell that his hair was probably an unkempt mess and his clothes were wrinkled, too. 

“We’ve got to make the money somehow. I might as well pitch in,” Arthur responded. 

Conner pursed his lips, looking as though he wanted to object but just couldn’t. Finally, he gave in. “Alright. Just... be safe, okay?”

“Mhmm.” 

Arthur held eye contact with his brother, green boring onto green. “I’ll be back before dark.” 

_ Or at least I hope.  _

As much as he didn’t want to end up on the streets himself, he was more concerned about Conner. Arthur felt guilty for staying in his brother’s apartment like an unwanted parasite. More than that, he was annoyed at himself for letting his break-up with Francis control where his life was going. 

He needed to get everything under control, and he needed to do it, fast. 

Arthur closed the door behind him and descended down 3 different flights of concrete stairs. Pleasantly enough, his brightly-lit surroundings didn’t pierce through his aching skull as much as he had assumed. Although, he still couldn’t manage to shake the nauseous, almost sea-sick feeling in his stomach. 

Judging by the time on his hand-me-down, scuffed-up, watch and the position of the sun in the sky, he could tell that it was around 4:00 PM. 

Brooklyn was one of the most highly-populated counties in New York, so Arthur had been under the impression that finding somewhere to work wouldn’t be too difficult. He didn’t have any experience, but statistically speaking, there should have been at least a few entry-level jobs available. 

Arthur tried to walk with purpose, mirroring the gait of others around him. Like he actually had someplace he needed to be, when in reality, he was really just wandering. 

Like he actually had  _ somebody  _ to see, when in reality, he was just lonely. 

_ Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. Don’t _ —

_ I’m thinking about it, aren’t I? _

His brain was exhausted at even the idea of contemplating his resigned fate of isolation. So, he decided to try to block those thoughts out. 

Arthur knew one thing, if anything at all: he would never panhandle. His personality simply didn’t accept it. He was much too proud to ask even a small favor from somebody, let alone beg for money. 

_ Even if I’ve got nowhere to be… that won’t stop me from looking.  _

_ And, as for the other issue... _

As sad as it might have seemed, love really wasn’t Arthur’s priority. Firstly, he needed to get his life back together. Living with Francis made him too dependent, and to be ripped from having practically everything at his fingertips to having nothing at all was drastic, to say the least. 

Arthur scanned the various storefronts as he walked past, paying more attention to them than he normally would. There were coffee shops, bakeries; services of all sorts. Although, one seemed to catch his eye. 

One storefront which just-so-happened to have a sign reading “HIRING NOW!” in bright neon lettering. 

He hesitated. What  _ was _ this place?

The business had cleverly allowed the noticeability of the employment notice to surpass that of the actual name of the business itself. 

Arthur squinted a little. The other sign read  _ Empire 103 _ , which somehow managed to confuse him even further. 

“Great, how enlightening,” he mumbled to himself. He thought his little sarcastic remark had gone unheard in such a noisy environment, but what he had failed to notice was the other man standing within earshot of him, who happened to be listening. 

“Enlightening, indeed,” the stranger said in a deep and almost soothing voice. 

Arthur let a surprised noise escape his throat that resembled the sound of a squeak, embarrassingly enough. 

“Oh— I, uh, didn’t see you there. Apologies.”

The stranger had blonde hair partially pinned up with a cross barret and indigo eyes. His facial expression remained deadpan. 

“No need for that. I wasn’t even the one to name it, anyway.” The stranger extended his right hand in a handshake, which Arthur tentatively accepted. “Bondevik. Lukas Bondevik. I run that place with one of my friends.” Lukas used his thumb to gesture to Empire 103 with his thumb. 

“I’m Arthur Kirkland, a pleasure.” He spared another glance at the bright sign on the front of the building. “So… you’re hiring?” He mentally kicked himself for sounding so desperate. 

“Mhmm. Though, I couldn’t have guessed  _ you _ ’d be interested in that kind of scene.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow. “Scene?”

Lukas stared at Arthur for a few moments, thinking that the Brit would eventually catch on. He didn’t. 

“It’s a nightclub.” 

Arthur flushed bright red, finally putting two and two together.    
“Ah—well, uh…” Words tumbled around his mouth before he could string enough together to form a coherent sentence. “I’m sorry, I think I’ve got somewhere else to be right now—”

“No, you don’t,” Lukas interjected, speaking confidently as if he could read Arthur’s mind. Eerily enough, he was correct. “Also, I never said we needed strippers. The Empire's just a little understaffed. 

Arthur let out a breath. There was hope for him yet, or so it appeared. “That’s good. You can probably tell, but I need to make a little extra cash by the end of the month.”

“I could tell. But anyway, if you’re down, just follow me inside. There are some people I’d like you to meet.” Lukas entered the building, with Arthur following right behind. 

Empire 103 looked like an ordinary nightclub. There was a bar lined with shiny stools, booths, brightly-coloured LED lights, and an empty space reserved for “dancing” (or other forms of bodily movement.) Large speakers occupied the top corners of the walls, and there was no pole in sight (much to Arthur’s relief.)

However, they weren’t alone. A tall man stood behind the bar, with another occupying one of the barstools. 

The shorter one was holding a deck of cards, with the values facing down. 

“Draw.”

The taller man said nothing in affirmation but chose a card from the other’s hand as he had asked. 

The shorter one put two fingers on the opposite sides of his head and squeezed his eyes shut in mock concentration. 

“What are you—”

“Shh. I’m making magic happen, Berwald.”

Lukas paid the situation little to no regard as if he was used to it. He didn’t roll his eyes or make any sarcastic remarks, as Arthur would have expected. 

“Alright!” The man straightened up his posture and extended his empty palm towards Berwald, who returned the card. He shuffled the facedown deck quickly and removed one of them. He held up the card triumphantly, which was a four of diamonds. “Is  _ this  _ your card?”

Berwald shook his head. “No. Was a 10 of clubs.” 

He slammed his head into the countertop, letting the cards fly all over. “Damn it! And here I thought I was actually getting better at this.”

Lukas cleared his throat to indicate his presence. Berwald seemed to be able to tell the moment the other two walked in, but apparently, the other visitor was a little too distracted. 

“Lukas, there you are! But I thought you said you’d be a while.” The stranger used the swiveling mechanism of the barstool to angle himself towards Arthur. 

Arthur could now see his face. The man had chestnut hair and dark eyes, with what looked to be fangs protruding from his mouth. With his small top hat and knee-high boots, he looked like he belonged at some sort of cosplay convention. 

“Nice eyebrows,” the brunette remarked teasingly. He smirked. “Hey! That ‘ought to be your nickname, from now on!”

Arthur frowned, suddenly feeling very self-conscious. “I’m afraid that idea doesn’t seem very appealing.”

“Heh. Fair enough.” His smirk turned into a grin, which gave Arthur a better look at his frighteningly sharp canine teeth. “The name’s Vladimir Popescu. Call me Vlad.”

“Arthur Kirkland.” Arthur looked from Vlad to Lukas. “Are you the other manager?”

Vlad threw his head back in a laugh. “I wish! That role belongs to the statue over there.” He pointed to Berwald in a loose motion.    
Berwald muttered an “mm” in affirmation. 

“I’m just your friendly neighborhood bartender. Oh, and also a magician. But uh…” Vlad gazed at the playing cards strewn about the floor and countertop and laughed nervously. “You can probably tell it’s not going so well.”

“Interesting,” was all Arthur was brave enough to say. If he was braver, he would have been able to mention his own interest in magic. Or, black magic, to be more precise. 

Lukas cleared his throat, demanding attention. “Arthur’s going to be working here for some time, okay?”

Vlad flashed a thumbs up and another cheesy grin, while Berwald remained stoic. 

“Any prior experience?” Lukas asked. 

Arthur tilted his head. “Sorry?”

“You know, like what you’ve done previously.”

Again, Arthur felt embarrassed. Before he met Francis, he worked at a local library. He had since quit, though, leaving him with not too much to brag about.    
“O-oh… not exactly…”

“Hm. Okay. I’m sure we can have Vlad teach you the basics. Do you know how to build**?” 

Now, that was something Arthur recognized. The faint and almost faded memories of his past floated to mind. 

He had multiple older brothers, all of whom were meant to inherit the family’s pub back in London. While Arthur had never actually been behind the stick himself, watching his father and brothers work gave him a pretty good idea. 

“I think so… I might need a small brush-up, though,” Arthur responded earnestly. 

“That’s good. I have a feeling we’re going to be three-deep** tomorrow night,” Lukas predicted. 

“Yeah. Luke’s boyfriend is throwing another party,” Vlad explained, leaning the back of his head on his hands. “Gonna be a wild night.”

Lukas glared at Vlad with bitter annoyance, although the faint dusting of pink on his cheeks wasn’t invisible. “Mathias isn’t my boyfriend. He’s a huge idiot, and I've got standards.”

“Those standards seem pretty lax if you ask me. But, whatever you say, I guess,” Vlad responded with a shrug of his shoulders. 

Lukas bit his lip, his eyes darting from one side to another. His calm and cool disposition had more than a few cracks in it, with one of them being a certain spiky-haired Danish man. Whoever the aforementioned “boyfriend” of Lukas was, Arthur could come to a sound conclusion:

He was the extroverted type. The type that likes throwing huge parties at nightclubs in Brooklyn. 

Vlad coughed to break the silence. “So, Kirkland, mind if we test out your skills some?”

“I suppose that wouldn’t hurt,” Arthur agreed. Vlad slid off his seat and passed through the employee entrance, gesturing for Arthur to follow. 

The area behind the counter wasn’t anything remarkable. Bottles of liquor and other syrups lined the countertop around the sink area, with even more stacked on the shelves behind. It was overwhelming to  _ some  _ degree, but it wasn’t necessarily anything Arthur wasn’t particularly used to. 

Berwald promptly exited the area to go talk with Lukas, providing a series of  _ mm _ s to the Norwegian’s plans on the event the next night. 

“Okay, how about something easy to start this one off.” Vlad’s voice interrupted Arthur’s observation of the two other men in the room. 

“Manhattan, please. On the rocks.”

A Manhattan was a cocktail composed of rye whiskey, sweet vermouth, and Angostura bitters. From the dusty knowledge, Arthur could recall, the drink was first poured at a high-end Manhattan club around the 1870s, though the specifics were unknown. It was said to be good for beginners, on both sides of the stick. 

_ This should be simple.  _

Arthur scanned the rows of bottles, searching for the ones he needed. 

_ Drain-pours** aren’t going to be up to the front… so that would mean… _

There it was. He found the rye whiskey, and quickly identified and selected the other two ingredients. 

The easily-accessible metal cocktail shaker was right next to the sink. 

Arthur combined the various different ingredients into the shaker as precisely as he could, making sure to follow the right ratio. 

_ Two ounces of the whiskey. _

_ One ounce of sweet vermouth… _

_ And two dashes of bitters.  _

Then came the ice, as Vlad had requested. He closed the cap and screwed it tight, making sure to shake the contents vigorously. Once that was done, Arthur located the first glass he could find, although it technically wasn’t the right shape for this particular beverage. 

Arthur filled the glass with amber-coloured liquid and slid it to Vlad. He clenched the countertop hard, making his knuckles turn pale. “I tried my best,” he admitted. 

Vlad raised the glass to his mouth and took a sip, not hesitating in the slightest. Thankfully for Arthur, his face didn’t immediately contort in disgust. “Hm… could have dialed back on the spice… not that I mind, but the customers might. Other than that, it’s pretty solid.” 

Arthur let his fingers slip from the countertop, sighing in relief. So he  _ wasn’t  _ terrible. 

“Thank you. I don’t suppose you’ll want to finish tha—”

Arthur reached his hand out to retrieve the glass, intending to pour it down the drain, only to watch as Vlad downed the entire thing in one go without even flinching. 

“Told you it was solid,” Vlad said. “You’re hired. Shift starts tomorrow at 10:00. Don’t miss it.”

Once the initial shock wore off, Arthur was able to offer his new co-worker a shaky smile. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I had to do a little more research on bar slang than I'd like to admit. Here's what I came up with.   
> Build: To build is to put a drink together.   
> Three-deep: When a bar is completely packed.   
> Drain-pour: An alcohol that is so unpleasant that it isn't even worth it to use for just intoxication purposes.  
> Yes, a Manhattan is an actual drink. It's recently been brought to my attention that there's a drink named after Brooklyn too (which is where this story takes place,) but it's a little too late to change that detail now.   
> Another note: Empire 103 is an actual nightclub in Brooklyn. It has no affiliation to the one in this story, except for the common name.  
> Also, I somehow can't stop putting Romania in literally every story I write. Sorry, I just can't help it! He's such a cool character and it's a shame that there aren't too many stories based around him :(   
> The magic trio is coming together >:) I'd be half-lying if I said it was purely a coincidence.   
> Also-also, forgive me if any detail here (especially regarding the setting) is inaccurate.   
> Thanks for reading!


	4. Moving On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Letting go of grief.

Matthew should have suspected  _ something  _ with the way his boyfriend had been acting. Gilbert hadn’t been able to remove his eyes from his phone even once, to the point where Matthew was concerned that his retinas would burn up. 

_ It’s none of my business,  _ Matthew tried telling himself for the 20th time.  _ It’s none of my business, so I should just leave it be. But… _

Gilbert typed something out and deleted it again, his eyebrows drawn together in conflict. “Mathias and his  _ gottverdammt  _ extrovertedness…”

Now Matthew had some grounds to question on. “Mathias?” 

Gilbert bit his lip in a way that was unintentionally attractive and nodded. “Remember? That Danish guy with the spiky hair? Talks 100 decibels more than what’s necessary?” 

Matthew smirked and let out a small snicker. “ _ You’re  _ one to talk. Remember that karaoke party you hosted last summer?” His smirk split into a wide grin. “The neighbors just wouldn’t stop with the noise complaints.”

“A shame, really. I guess it was just too much awesomeness for them to handle.” Gilbert flung an arm around Matthew’s shoulder, pulling him closer. “But it’s fine, ‘cause  _ you’re  _ here to balance me out.”

“Eh?” Matthew felt a heat rise to his cheeks. He was slightly surprised at the sudden closeness, even though he should have been used to it by then. 

_ Mon Dieu, we’re dating already. This kind of stuff is normal.  _

“A-anyways, back to the topic…” Matthew cleared his throat, fighting to keep his voice from wavering. “So, why were you cursing Mathias’s—” He tried his best to imitate Gilbert’s scratchy voice layered thick with accent. “—g _ ottverdammt  _ extrovertedness?”

Gilbert let out a loud chuckle at the poor imitation and nonchalantly tossed his phone aside. “Ah, it’s nothing, really. Just another party that the awesome me was invited to. It’s at some nightclub near the edge of Brooklyn.” 

“A party…” The warm, happy, feeling that had grown in Matthew’s heart slowly fell away, opening a pit of dread deep inside his consciousness. 

The last party he had attended was also, coincidentally enough, thrown by Matthias Køhler. The experience was actually quite fun, for the most part. There was booze (of course) with music that was a little too loud and people that were too energetic. But in some ways, the chaos was new and fresh to Matthew. 

There was just one thing that would forever etch undesirable memories into his brain. 

_ Alfred… goddamn it. I should have been careful. I should have stayed by his side so none of it would have ever happened and Al would be happy and safe and _ —

“—you there? Hello?” Gilbert waved a hand in front of Matthew’s face. 

“Oh, um, yeah. Sorry,” Matthew quickly apologized. 

_ I can apologize… but I don’t think I’ll be able to forgive myself for that. Al might be able to… but…  _

“Mattie! You’re zoning out again!” Gilbert stared deep into his boyfriend’s eyes, searching, hunting. “Is there anything wrong?”

Matthew didn’t tell Gilbert about the situation with Alfred. Frankly, he thought that there really was not much of a reason to at all. He didn’t want to talk about such a sensitive topic and reveal details about the ordeal, especially without Alfred’s consent. 

_ Consent.  _ The word rang through his mind, washing her entire body with bitter contempt. 

_ There’s no question about it. If there isn’t consent, then it’s rape. And to think that my brother had to go through that— _

“I…” Matthew sucked in a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I should talk about it.” 

A pained expression flashed across Gilbert’s face but left as soon as it came. “Okay,” he simply said. “I take it that you’re gonna pass on this one, right?”

Matthew frowned. “Mhmm. It’s just… I don’t think it’s really the right time to be partying,” he admitted. “You?”

Gilbert gave Matthew an earnest smile. “Pfft. Whaddya mean? We’re a pair. If you’re not going, I’m not going.” 

Matthew felt his heart begin to melt once again. “T-That's really sweet of you…”

“Naturally,” Gilbert responded haughtily, trying to mock the disposition of a playboy capable of romancing anyone he pleased. “I’m just gonna let Køhler know that we’re—”

“Attending.”

Matthew instinctively swiveled his head around at the sound of another voice, finding his brother standing in the doorway. Alfred’s eyes were still watery and rimmed with red, with his posture not carrying as much conviction as it normally would. 

“Al? What are you—”

“I wanna go,” Alfred interrupted. “I wanna go to that party.”

Matthew felt a lump form in his throat, one that he found impossible to swallow. What was he supposed to do? After what had happened… the stubborn protectiveness he had for his twin brother slowly began to manifest once again. 

“I—I don’t think that’s a good idea, Alfred. What if—” The lump made it more than just a little difficult for Matthew to finish his sentence. “What if something happens?” 

Alfred stared at the floor, tracing the wood grain’s pattern with his eyes. From the slightly-downwards tilted angle of his face, Matthew noticed something that made his stomach churn with displeasure. 

The bruises. Some were purple, some were black. All of them looked horrible. 

Matthew couldn’t even begin to understand what sort of twisted person would have it in their heart to do something so utterly  _ inhumane  _ to another person. He wouldn’t wish that kind of treatment on his worst enemy. 

The sight strengthened Matthew’s resolve even further. 

“N-Nothing’s going to happen,” Alfred insisted waveringly. “I just have to… be more careful.”

Matthew furrowed his eyebrows in concern. “How can you be so sure that nobody’s gonna—”

“Please, Matt.” Alfred finally lifted his gaze up, locking eye contact. “I know you’re worried, but… after going through hell… I just really, really, need…” He trailed off. 

Inner conflict was brewing in Matthew’s mind. He _ wished  _ he could just let his brother waltz off and do whatever he wanted. After all, Alfred  _ was  _ an adult. But something deep inside of him just wouldn’t let that happen. Not without a fight. 

_ I could be wrong, but I think I know what he wants. What he needs.  _

Alfred’s stare flickered from his brother to Gilbert, then back again. This proved Matthew’s deduction even further. 

_ Exactly. That’s it.  _

_ But rushing in too quickly leads to things like… _

_ Shit. I wish I could just get it off my mind.  _

_ We need to move on.  _

Matthew parted his lips, his mouth feeling dry and barren. “Fine. You can go. But,” he cracked a smile that was just a little bit sad, “if you’re going, then I’m going too. I won’t leave your side.” 

“Man, what’s with this change of heart? Kesesese~ I didn’t know you were a partier, Matthew!” Gilbert exclaimed as he snatched his phone from the couch. 

Alfred and Matthew exchanged glances. They had come to an agreement, one that Gilbert was blissfully unaware of. 

_ So, let’s move on.  _

* * *

It was easier said than done. Alfred tried desperately to keep himself away from the brink of tears, yet somehow, they always seemed to start falling regardless. He was glad, though. Nobody told him he needed to just “man up.” Matthew and Gilbert—they were both there for him, even if the latter didn’t exactly know what was going on. 

Alfred took a long look in the mirror, his palms pressed flat against the cold marble countertop. The wallpaper was bright red, with white maple-leaf silhouettes as a pattern. It was a far cry from the usual patriotic mess of stars and stripes that embellished his own place. Still, it felt like home. 

The cut near his left eye was healing nicely, or so Dr. Wang had said. Alfred was finally able to see it for himself. The bruises were fading away, too. But there were some things that would never leave; wounds that not even time could heal. 

_ Memories.  _

The trauma was unforgettable. Alfred wished he could rid himself of that mind-numbing pain. Alcohol did nothing. Neither did hamburgers, apparently. 

The smell of vodka would be forever burned into his mind. The metallic taste of blood on his tongue, the red substance leaking from the cuts on his lips—

_ Why. Why?  _

_ I never hurt anyone. Why was I on the receiving end of it? _

Alfred squeezed both eyelids shut as if he could reset his brain. He had joined a support group for people who had gone through similar things. It was nice to know that he wasn’t alone, but the feeling refused to go. 

The feeling of being… lost at sea. Like a shipwrecked boat. Broken. 

_ If I just had an anchor… _

_ Would it all be better?  _

Alfred intended to find his anchor. Male, female, it really didn’t matter—just somebody who could put his broken pieces back together again. Complete the puzzle. 

A gentle knock could be heard from the other side of the bathroom door, allowing Alfred to assume who it was.

“Yeah?” 

“It’s almost 9:45. N-not trying to rush you, or anything! Take your time!” stammered Matthew before scurrying away. 

_ He’s almost  _ **_too_ ** _ nice _ , Alfred thought to himself. 

_ Whatever. I gotta get ready.  _

Mathias’s party was in just a few more minutes, and he needed to get ready. The address Matthew and Gilbert had been given was that of a nightclub instead of a house, with an additional text message tacked on encouraging them to bring along whoever they wanted with grinning emojis scattered about.

_ This is different from last time. It’s gonna be different.  _

_ It’s going to be alright.  _

Alfred continued to tell himself that all would be well, and the night would go on smoothly without any mishaps. He wished the lie was easier to believe. 

_ No. Matt’s gonna stay with me. He won’t let me get hurt.  _

_ And more importantly… _

_ I won’t let  _ **_myself_ ** _ get hurt.  _

The outfit Alfred was wearing was nothing fancy. From his prior experiences, he was able to determine that casual clothes were the default for parties. Unless it was something hosted by Roderich. Gilbert had warned them about the painfully strict dress code at any event the Edelstein manor hosted. 

“Alfred!” yelled a raspy voice, followed by a series of loud  _ bangs  _ on the door. “You in there? My awesome bladder can’t wait much longer!” 

An embarrassing squeaky noise escaped from Alfred’s throat at the sudden noise. “Uh, yeah, dude! Just a few more seconds, kay?” 

Alfred turned the sink’s knob and let the water run for a few moments, not wanting to make it obvious that he didn’t actually use the restroom in the first place. 

Finally, he flung the door open, allowing Gilbert to rush into the bathroom and shut the door behind him. 

“Gosh, 45 minutes away…” mumbled Matthew from the opposite side of the hallway as he stared at his phone. Finally, he turned the phone off and rubbed his eyes. “Well, I guess there’s nothing wrong with being fashionably late this one time.” 

The bathroom door was thrust open again, slamming against the wall with a strong force. 

“Okay, everybody!” Gilbert sauntered over to where Matthew was standing and reached his hand towards the other man’s backside. 

“G-Gil? W-what are you trying to do?” Matthew demanded, but with not as much credence as he would have hoped. 

“Oh, nothing. I just managed to find…” Gilbert pulled out a pair of keys from his boyfriend’s pocket, his proud grin marking the excursion a success. Attached to the keyring was a small, white, polar bear plushie, which Gilbert gave a little pat. “These bad boys!”   
Matthew breathed a sigh of relief, but the solace quickly faded as he attempted to retrieve his car keys from Gilbert’s hand. 

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head,” Gilbert assured as he ruffled Matthew’s hair affectionately. “I’ll take care of the driving tonight.”

“Like  _ hell,  _ you will! Do you even have your license yet?” Matthew questioned. 

Gilbert scratched the back of his neck and smiled sheepishly. “ _ Ja _ ...” 

“You’re not the best at lying, you know.”

“No, I don’t know. I’ve got no idea what you’re even talking about!”

The banter continued for a few more minutes until Gilbert finally backed down and returned the keys, but not without protest. 

“ _ Fine _ ,” Gilbert groaned, drawing out his vowels unnecessarily. “You’re going to pay me back later, though,” he whispered. 

Matthew smirked and took the keys. “Naturally.”

* * *

Apparently, being “fashionably late” wasn’t all that it was cracked up to be. By the time they had arrived at the nightclub, it was almost 11:00 PM. 

Alfred felt his eyelids begin to droop. He was tired and began to regret his decision to attend the party. 

_ No going back, now.  _

He got out of the backseat (Gilbert had claimed shotgun) and took a quick look at the nightclub’s exterior. At first glance, it was difficult to see anything on the storefront besides the lit-up sign proclaiming that they were hiring. It was dark, and on top of that, Alfred’s vision was never really the best. 

“So, this is Empire 103, huh,” Gilbert remarked as he stared up at the building. “Apparently Mathias’s boyfriend owns the place.” 

“Cool,” responded Alfred flippantly. The information seemed to go in through one ear and come out the other. It’s not like he really cared too much, anyway. 

“The parking lot’s packed,” Matthew pointed out. Indeed, it was. Cars of different colors, build, and price filled the area near the entrance. 

“You know what they say,” Gilbert practically skipped towards the entrance and wrenched open the door. “The more the merrier!” 

“Haha, right…” A tide of nausea rose in Alfred’s stomach. Making plans to go to a party was easy enough, but actually acting on those plans was different. Especially after seeing just how many people were there. 

Seeming to notice his brother’s slight discomfort, Matthew gave Alfred a reassuring smile. 

And so, Alfred took his first step into the nightclub, simultaneously fearing and anticipating the thrills and mysteries that lay inside. 

Halfway through the doorway, he felt a light grip on his arm. 

“We’re sticking together,” Matthew reminded. “Don’t forget.” 

Alfred chuckled dryly. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I intend to have Arthur and Alfred actually meet and start to interact in the next chapter, so stay tuned! Anyway, thanks for reading!


	5. Something Else

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Embarrassing," huh. What an understatement.

**_I met you late night,_ **

**_At a party._ **

**_Some trust fund baby’s Brooklyn loft._ **

* * *

“You really weren’t exaggerating, were you?”

If there was one word to describe Empire 103’s atmosphere that night, it would be _loud._ Loud and lively. Unfortunately, these were both elements that Arthur wasn’t exactly used to. 

Arthur could hardly even hear his own thoughts; he seriously doubted whether his co-worker could make out what he had just said. 

Apparently he could. 

“Nope,” Vlad responded, his bemused gaze scanning the room. “But, really, what were you expecting? A book club?” 

Arthur averted his eyes, staring at the floor. While he obviously _knew_ the nightclub was going to be crowded, what he didn’t consider was how the term “crowded’ would be an extreme understatement. 

The nightclub was packed with people; most of them were either chattering amicably (or, perhaps if they had a little too much to drink, not-so-amicably,) or on the dance floor. There were a few individuals awkwardly lurking around the less-populated corners of the facility, nursing glasses of whiskey in their hands. 

But, for the most part, everyone seemed to be having an excellent time. 

However, the same couldn’t be said for Arthur. 

The constant yell of “BARTENDER!” coming from partygoers near the countertop combined with the ambient roar of the crowd, the flashing, neon, LED lights, and the pulsing beat of strange (Swedish?) rock music was enough to give Arthur a headache. 

Still, he persevered. After all, what sort of thick-headed clod would want to give up on their job just because of slight discomfort?

 _I’m starting to think that I might be that thick-headed clod,_ Arthur figured as he watched a blonde-haired woman toss an empty bottle onto the ground, letting it shatter to bits. 

“BARTENDER!” shouted a sloppy-looking, messy-haired, man from behind the counter.

As Arthur exchanged weary glances with his co-worker, he noticed Vlad’s stare lingering on something past Arthur’s shoulder. 

“I’ve got it covered,” Vlad assured, rushing over to take the man’s order.

 _So, he_ **_can_ ** _be nice, sometimes._

Arthur almost considered thanking Vlad for his acceptance of the task, until he felt a small tap on his shoulder. 

He turned his head around sharply. 

“Look, I know this technically isn’t part of your job, but…” Lukas pointed to the far end of the nightclub near the entrance, where Arthur remembered seeing the bottle get smashed. “That needs to be cleaned up. It’s a safety hazard.” 

Arthur processed the information for a brief moment, then glared daggers at the back of Vlad’s head. 

_He knew! He saw! How underhanded!_

_And I thought he was actually being responsible._

Arthur pushed his frustration aside long enough to reply. “Ah— right, then. I’ll be on it.”

Lukas gave him a curt nod and something that Arthur assumed was supposed to be a smile but ended up looking like a small, strange, twitching of the lips before disappearing into the crowd. 

Arthur hesitated before exiting the bar area, taking doubtful steps towards where he presumed was the storage closet to find a broom to clean up the mess of glass currently littering the floor. 

He wasn’t quite used to the job, just yet. Although, he knew very well that familiarity required experience. And experience required time. 

But there wasn’t any time to waste. 

Leaving pointy shards of glass right where anyone (particularly someone tipsy) could waltz right over and cut themselves wasn’t optimal. 

With the broom in his left hand and dustpan in his right, Arthur approached the area of concern as quickly as he could. 

_Best get it over with, now._

_Although, I do enjoy the small change of scenery. It’s a shift from the environment behind the stick._

Arthur began sweeping up the shards of glass, identifying them in the dim light by searching for the telltale reflections of the LED’s colorful glow. The task was a little difficult, especially considering how many people were surrounding him. 

Finally, there were only a few shards left, though they were considerably smaller than the others. 

_Imagine getting one of those stuck in your skin.._

He grimaced at the thought. 

Arthur arched his back, bending over ever-so-slightly in order to successfully collect those tiny pieces of glass in the dustpan. 

A shockwave of panic crashed over him as he felt his foot get caught on the nearby broom, still upright. 

The broom toppled over, sending Arthur falling to the ground with it. 

Arthur felt soreness, followed by a sharp string of pain pierce through his body as the glass and floor made contact with his skin. 

Or at least, he _would_ have. 

A strong pair of arms had wrapped themselves around Arthur’s torso, preventing the fall. 

“Hey! You alright, there?” 

Suddenly, Arthur found himself staring into the bluest eyes he had ever seen. 

He could have stared forever, really. The only thing stopping him was his dignity, which Arthur oftentimes cherished even more than his actual well-being. 

“I’m— I’m fine!” Arthur stammered, straightening his spine and dusting off his apron, watching the blue-eyed man’s arms leave his waist with a strange feeling of sadness. 

“That’s good! I’m glad I caught you in time!” the stranger said brightly. “But, y’know, that’s what heroes do!” 

Finally, Arthur got an opportunity to actually take a look at his saviour. 

The man was definitely tall— about a head-and-a-half taller than Arthur. His shoulders were broad, his muscles were well-built, and his hair was a golden-blonde color that looked more blue-ish under the lighting’s vivid hue. 

There was one major takeaway that was practically screaming in Arthur’s mind:

_He’s hot._

Undoubtedly, this man was handsome in somewhat of an unconventional way. A pair of silver-framed glasses sat upon his nose, while a strange strand of hair at the top of his head seemed to defy gravity. 

Arthur prayed nobody could see the pink blush that was beginning to form on his cheeks. His brain seemed to short-circuit under the stranger’s gaze. It wasn’t like the blue-eyed man was undressing Arthur in his head or giving him bedroom eyes as someone like Francis would do. There was… something else. 

“Um, you sure you’re okay? You look a little sick,” the stranger commented. 

Arthur felt like burying his face in his hands in embarrassment. Was he really that obvious? 

“I assure you, Mr. Hero-Complex, I’ve got everything under control,” Arthur snapped abruptly. 

It was only after Arthur said this did he realize what exactly he said. 

Arthur gulped. 

_Fucking god. What have I done?_

_I really didn’t mean for it to come out that rude, but—_

And then, the unimaginable happened. 

The stranger started _laughing._ Not just a small chuckle— a full-on, doubled-over, fit of howling. Arthur didn’t have even the slightest idea of why.

“Oi! What’s so funny?” Arthur demanded, his mouth in a deep frown and his arms crossed over his chest petulantly. 

The stranger wiped a small tear from his right eye, with both eyelids tightly squeezed shut. “Oh, man— you _actually_ — I can’t even—” 

Arthur truly didn’t see anything intentionally amusing about his actions. Rude, maybe, but… “Please, arrange your thoughts before speaking!” 

Somehow, this comment managed to humor the other blonde even further. 

Finally, after the laughter subsided, the blue-eyed man spoke up. “Sorry about that! It’s just that nobody’s ever really called me out about that,” he said, obviously referring to Arthur’s initial remark about his hero complex. 

_Well, with_ **_those_ ** _biceps, who’d be daring enough to try tangling themselves up with it?_ Much to his own surprise, Arthur found himself scrutinizing the other man’s body again. He felt like a teenage fangirl at her favorite boy band’s live concert— a notion that seemed completely ridiculous yet frighteningly accurate; especially with the way Arthur was acting at that moment. 

_Am I… am I acting like Francis, right now?_

Arthur felt a bitter taste fill his mouth, causing him to instinctively flinch and look to the floor. 

_Oh, hell. I’m better than that! I’m a gentleman, not some stubble-faced frog with commitment issues who’s got his head in the gutter 24/7!_

Pride be damned, Arthur had his reputation to uphold. “Sorry, that was uncalled for,” he apologized, still not quite making eye-contact. 

“...”

“...”

“...”

There was no reply. The only noise that could be heard was the pounding music and rambunctious chatter coming from the other attendees. The lack of response made Arthur all but cringe in his own embarrassment. 

“Then… I guess I’ll be off,” Arthur said quickly. “Thanks for helping me earlier.” 

He spun on his heel, ready to rush over to the bar and demand for Vlad or Lukas or _somebody_ else to finish cleaning up the shattered glass because he was just _too damn awkward_ to do so himself. 

“Wait!” the stranger cried out, in an instant. “It really wasn’t that big of a deal, honestly! Y’know, the way you said it was actually kind of cu—” 

Arthur froze. 

_What?_

The other man caught himself. “Funny! It was really funny!” A good-natured, lopsided, sort of grin that made Arthur’s heart flutter appeared on his face as he extended his right hand in a friendly gesture. “So, no hard feelings, yeah?”

“Right…” Arthur dithered for a bit longer than he should have before finally extending his own arm to complete the handshake. “Arthur Kirkland. A pleasure.” 

“Alfred F. Jones, at your service!” Another blinding, ultra-bright smile, this time with a playful wink attached. 

Arthur thought for a few seconds. “What does the ‘F’ stand for?”

“Huh.” Alfred shrugged. “Good question.” 

* * *

The party raged on in a blur of flashing lights and drunken karaoke. And, of course, Arthur was in the center of it all. 

Truthfully, the only thing that made it slightly more bearable was the fact that he had a new acquaintance to chat with as he poured drinks for rowdy customers behind the stick. 

As Arthur observed, Alfred had a remarkably high alcohol tolerance. It _did_ make Arthur a little bit jealous, as he himself couldn’t consume more than one glass of hard liquor without completely losing himself. 

As enticing as the lure of a free drink sounded, (after all, they were all lined up in a neat row, right in front of him!) Arthur was determined to stay sober. After all, he had no intentions of humiliating himself in front of Alfred by getting intoxicated. 

_And God knows the kinds of foolish things I would do._

Arthur shuddered, recalling that one incident involving a skimpy waiter uniform and a pair of bunny ears. 

“Yeah… Americat was the best pet I could’ve ever asked for,” Alfred said dolefully, interrupting Arthur’s thoughts. “Even if Matt was kind of allergic.” 

“Matt?” Arthur asked, ignoring the fact that ‘Americat’ was one of the cheesiest pet names in existence. 

Alfred nodded. “Yeah, my twin. He’s been right beside me ever since I got here, I think.” 

Arthur nearly dropped the empty glass he’d been washing. Alfred had a twin? A twin that was present the entire time? 

Finally, he saw it— it was almost like he was seeing double. A splitting image of Alfred appeared in the seat next to Alfred himself. This person’s hair was a little longer and curlier, with a loose curl replacing Alfred’s prominent cowlick. 

And then, Arthur came to another realization. 

_He must have seen the entire thing._

His first encounter with Alfred was awkward and a little dicey; though the awkwardness of it all must have been much higher than Arthur had originally anticipated with another person spectating. 

“O-oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t notice you were— uh…” Arthur didn’t know exactly how to apologize for not noticing a person’s entire existence until just a minute ago. Thankfully, Alfred’s twin didn’t seem too offended.

“It’s alright, that happens a lot,” Matt assured. “I think it’s because I don’t really stand out too much.” 

“I see.”

Nobody said anything for a little while. Arthur noticed Alfred staring at something with a strangely wary look in his eyes; that ‘something’ happened to be a bottle of vodka on the shelf behind the counter. 

_Hm._

_Perhaps that's another story for another time._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaand.... another chapter is complete! You can probably get a little more understanding of my upload schedule by now.  
> Americat = Nekotalia America  
> Tomorrow is New Year's Eve! Are you guys ready to leave 2020 behind? (I know I am xD) I'm currently debating on whether or not I should write a quick little New Year's special for the World's Misadventures series.  
> Anyway, hope you enjoy!


	6. Lonely Like Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The American cleared his throat once Arthur finished, catching his attention. “Now?” he asked. 
> 
> Arthur put down a bottle of Everclear and dusted himself off. “Now.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MUSIC:   
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_yX_z1j6yzs   
> https://open.spotify.com/album/2AbPwLvpR0FwpqGt4ZY1q4?highlight=spotify:track:6XcfKZvJio9Z0fQy11GnNX

Alfred stared at his glass in admiration. 

_ This is some of the best shit I’ve had in a while.  _

He took another sip of his drink, feeling a slight burn in his throat as the alcohol went down (though he was inclined to ignore it. The Bourbon was just  _ that damn good _ !)

Alfred, lost in his little reverie, failed to notice the small tap on his right shoulder. 

“Al,” said Matthew timidly. “Maybe you should hold off on the drinks for the time being. I— I mean, I’m not telling you what to do or anything! I just thought—”

“Nah, you’ve got a point.” Alfred set down the glass (albeit, a little hesitantly.) The stuff was  _ spectacular _ , but getting piss-drunk in a nightclub surrounded by strangers was bound to put him in what could only be called a not-so-desirable situation. Especially keeping in mind his prior experiences…

Saying it was a bad idea would be an understatement. 

“Where’s Gil?” Alfred asked, quickly changing the subject. 

Matthew sighed, resting his cheek on his palm and pointing to the dance floor with the other hand. 

Alfred followed his brother’s gaze, which led him to Gilbert sporting flushed cheeks and a half-unbuttoned shirt doing a drunken interpretation of the tango with a grinning brunette. Another man stood nearby, watching the scene with hot jealousy glowing in his amber eyes. Alfred could have  _ sworn  _ he saw that wayward curl on the top of the stranger’s head twitching in rage. 

Alfred chuckled nervously as he turned back around. “He looks like he’s having a good time.”

“He looks like he’s about to vomit,” Arthur chimed in. “Then pass out. And, when he wakes up, he’ll do it all over again.”

Alfred laughed. “You think?” 

_ He really is something else.  _

Arthur pulled his lips into a bemused smirk, emerald eyes glistening in the low light. “I  _ know. _ ” 

Suddenly, Alfred’s heartbeat quickened. 

Arthur was just so…  _ great.  _ Witty, charming, sarcastic, and—

_ Adorable.  _

_ Even with the weird eyebrows. Somehow, he pulls it off! _

But how was that possible? Alfred had only just met the man, for god’s sake! For all he knew, Arthur could be a murderer! Or a robber, or a scammer, or a rapi—

Alfred’s chest grew cold. 

_ I hope not.  _

_ God, I really hope not.  _

He wanted to trust the green-eyed bartender. His heart  _ ached  _ for it. But, at the same time, Alfred  _ knew  _ that he could be placing his trust in someone who would turn right around and shatter it. 

And it was killing him inside. 

_ It’s all his fault.  _

_ Fucking Ivan.  _

_ It’s all his fault. If only... _

**_If only_ ** —

**_IF ONLY_ ** —

“Alfred? Are you alright?” Arthur asked, his eyebrows furrowing in concern. “You look sick.”

Alfred contemplated just lying. Plastering another handsome (yet 100% in-authentic) smile on his face and saying that everything was fine, and there was nothing to worry about. 

But there lied the problem:

Everything was  _ not  _ fine. 

“Actually…” Alfred looked to the ground, his eyes fixated on the laces of his bright-red converse. “Can we… talk?” 

Arthur perked up at the suggestion. “Talk? I mean…” His eyes roamed around, searching for any reason to not accept Alfred’s request. There were none. “Sure. By the bathroom?” Heat rose to his cheeks. “Erm, not like that! It’s just quieter over there, that’s all!”

Matthew eyed the pair with a little suspicion before leaning over to whisper into his brother’s ear. “ _ Are you sure _ ?”

Alfred nodded discreetly and whispered back.  _ “Yes. I trust him _ .” 

Matthew paused. “ _ Weren’t we going to stick together _ ?” 

Alfred recalled the promise they made upon entering Empire 103. 

“ _ I know. And we are. We’re not going anywhere you can’t see, kay? I’ll be extra careful. _ ” 

The words ‘this time’ were left unsaid. Nevertheless, Matthew heard them. Loud and clear. 

“ _ Okay. But if you feel uncomfortable, even for a second, just get out. Scream if you have to. What happened before is  _ **_not_ ** _ going to happen again. _ ” 

Alfred nodded and spared a glance at Arthur, who was (thankfully) too busy pouring a spirit for another customer to take notice of the conversation. 

The American cleared his throat once Arthur finished, catching his attention. “Now?” he asked. 

Arthur put down a bottle of Everclear and dusted himself off. “Now.” 

* * *

“Hey,  _ Schätzchen _ . You single?”

Matthew almost laughed out loud. 

Gilbert Beilschmidt had left the dance floor and was flirting with him. That drunken sort-of flirting, of course. 

Not to mention that in his revel, Gilbert had completely forgotten one crucial detail:

He and Matthew had been dating for two years. 

Nevertheless, Matthew decided to humor his tipsy partner. “Sorry, I’ve already got someone.” 

Gilbert groaned, his mouth twisting into a frown. “ _ Scheiße _ , seriously? Doesn’t The Awesome Me™ stand a chance?”

Matthew smirked. “You know, you kind of remind me of my boyfriend.”

Gilbert’s eyes twinkled. “Really?”

“Yeah. Actually, he looks a lot like you, too.”

“Wow. I really gotta meet this guy. I’d totally do him if his awesomeness can compare to mine.” 

Matthew chuckled. 

_ He really does love himself, huh?  _

“Do you want to see a picture of him?” Matthew asked. 

Gilbert nodded rapidly, his expression screaming _ ‘Hell yes!’ _

Matthew brought out his phone and opened the Photos app. After scrolling through the pictures for a little while, he found the perfect one.

Gilbert stared at the screen. 

“ _ Damn _ ,” He finally remarked after the long silence. “He  _ is  _ hot!” 

* * *

“There’s something kind of important I think you should know.”

Arthur pursed his lips together, the mood growing tenser with every passing moment. Alfred’s tone had changed drastically; shifting from his usual light-hearted attitude to a more strained (even nervous?) timbre. “Go on, then.”

Alfred leaned his back to the wall, a shadow falling over his face. He parted his lips to speak multiple times, but couldn’t seem to be able to get the words out. 

Arthur immediately noticed something was wrong. Just by looking at Alfred's trauma-wrought expression, he could tell. 

“H-hey, if you really don’t want to talk about it…”

Alfred shook his head, his inner turmoil plain as day. “No. I... I just  _ really  _ need some closure. So…”

The silence hung over them both like a heavy fog. 

One second passed. Then two. Then three. Then four. Then five. 

Alfred opened his mouth once more. 

Finally, he spoke.

* * *

“There’s something kind of important I think you should know,” Alfred said as confidently as he could manage (which was honestly not very confident at all, especially given the circumstances.)

But, could you blame him? 

_ Is this right? Should I say it?  _

Alfred wished he had a little angel on his right shoulder and a devil on his left, just like in those cheesy cartoons. Maybe they would know what to do. 

_ What if he thinks it’s disgusting? What if he thinks  _ **_I’M_ ** _ disgusting? _

“Go on, then,” Arthur responded. 

Alfred shifted his weight from one foot to the other, both palms clenched in anxiety. 

_ How?  _

_ How do I do this, if at all?  _

_ Do I trust him?  _

_ Should I trust him?  _

“H-hey, if you really don’t want to talk about it…” Arthur clasped both his hands in front of his body, not quite sure what else to do with them. 

Suddenly, Alfred decided. 

_ Yes.  _

_ Yes, I do. _

_ I’m not going to stay silent.  _

_ I have to be strong.  _

“No. I... I just  _ really  _ need some closure. So…”

Alfred took a deep breath and told Arthur the entire story. 

Arthur was speechless. 

It was easy to convince himself that everything Alfred had told him was false; a mere fabrication of the truth. A sob story, if you will. 

But Arthur knew it wasn’t. It  _ couldn’t  _ be false. 

Because true emotions were impossible to fake. 

Emotions like sadness, pain, grief, regret… 

_ Oh god.  _

_ I didn’t even know the half of it.  _

Once Alfred finished speaking, he was in tears. 

Arthur didn’t know what he was supposed to say. 

A simple ‘I’m sorry’ wouldn’t even begin to cut it. 

But what he  _ did  _ know was that actions spoke louder than words. And,  _ goddamnit,  _ Arthur needed to speak as loud as he could. 

So, Arthur took Alfred in his arms and hugged him. 

“ _That’s horrible_ ,” Arthur said, his voice muffled by Alfred’s collar. “ _So,_ ** _so_** _,_ _horrible._ ”

Alfred returned the hug, his tears flowing freely down his cheeks. “ _ It’s not fair. _ ”

“ _ It really isn’t. _ ” 

Arthur didn’t give a shit about what everyone else thought. At that moment, Alfred was hurting. And if he could do anything—  _ anything  _ at all to help— he was going to do it. 

Eventually, they pulled away. 

Arthur reached up, wiping Alfred’s tears with his hand. “It’s not going to happen again. Not tonight, not tomorrow, not even in a hundred years from now.” 

Somehow, in the midst of his overwhelming tsunami of sadness, Alfred found himself smiling. 

_ He’s kind of like Matt. _

And, somehow, in the midst of his stormy sea, Alfred had  _ finally _ found his anchor. 

An unfamiliar melody begins to play from the speakers— not the first few guitar riffs of another Swedish rock song. 

**_I like that you're broken,_ **

**_Broken like me._ **

**_Maybe that makes me a fool._ **

**_I like that you're lonely,_ **

**_Lonely like me._ **

**_I could be lonely with you._ **

Alfred locked eye contact with Arthur, cerulean blue on emerald green. 

**_I met you late night, at a party_ **

**_Some trust fund baby's Brooklyn loft_ **

**_By the bathroom, you said let's talk_ **

**_But my confidence is wearing off._ **

Through his peripheral vision, Alfred could see people. Matthew and Gilbert and so many others...

**_These are my people,_ **

**_These are my friends._ **

**_He grabbed my face, and,_ **

**_That's when he said..._ **

Time seemed to slow down. Everything else looked like a blurry mess, to the point where the only thing Alfred could see was Arthur. 

The chorus began. 

**_I like that you're broken,_ **

**_Broken like me._ **

**_Maybe that makes me a fool._ **

**_I like that you're lonely,_ **

**_Lonely like me._ **

**_I could be lonely with you._ **

The lyrics continued, vocalizing everything that both of them were too scared to say out loud. 

**_There's something tragic, but almost pure._ **

**_Think I could love you, but I'm not sure._ **

**_There's something wholesome,_ **

**_There's something sweet,_ **

**_Tucked in your eyes that I'd love to meet._ **

**_These are my people,_ **

**_These are my friends._ **

**_He grabbed my face, and,_ **

**_That's when he said—_ **

...

“Hey, Arthur?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.” 

Through the bittersweet vehemence, the pair came to a mutual understanding without even having to say anything more.

Arthur had just met Alfred, but he loved him. 

_ Who wouldn’t? _

He didn’t want or need a quick rebound anymore. Alfred wasn’t someone to be thrown away like that. 

Another realization came to mind.

_ I’m not lonely. Not anymore.  _

And so, with their hands and fates and souls intertwined, they kissed. 

**_I like that you're broken,_ **

**_Broken like me._ **

**_Maybe that makes me a fool._ **

**_I like that you're lonely,_ **

**_Lonely like me._ **

**_I could be lonely with you._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the PruCan in the middle of this huge angst-fest. Personally, I don't ship it, but it seems to be a pretty popular pairing.   
> But anyway,  
> Wow.   
> It's finished.   
> That was a wild ride, huh? Thank you, faithful readers, for sticking with me!  
> So...  
> Roll credits!
> 
> (unless you'd like to see an epilogue. if so, just let me know!)


	7. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So…” Alfred trailed off, praying he didn’t have to explain and Arthur would be able to take the hint. “Now?”
> 
> Arthur stared for a few more seconds before nodding. “Now.” 

**_Life is not a love song that we like._ **

**_We're all broken pieces floating by._ **

**_Life is not a love song, we can try..._ **

**_To fix our broken pieces,_ **

**_One at a time._ **

* * *

Six months. 

Six months had passed since one of the worst things Alfred had ever experienced. 

Six months had passed since one of the best things Alfred had ever experienced. 

He was glad to have met Arthur. So, _so_ , glad. 

Old scars were healing, one at a time— slowly, but surely. Alfred could feel it, and _goddammit_ it was one of the best feelings in the world. 

Arthur had moved into his place and out of his older brother’s apartment about two months ago. Surprisingly enough, Alfred didn’t get an earful of complaints regarding the patriotic (or, as some might claim, downright chauvinistic) wallpaper or the presence of instant tea in the cabinets. 

Despite the fact that there were multiple bedrooms inside Alfred’s house— far more than what was necessary— Arthur and Alfred shared a room. 

Now, they hadn’t done anything too intimate just yet. They simply slept in the same bed, exchanging the occasional chaste kiss or hug. 

Another thing Alfred learned was that Arthur wasn’t exactly a prude, either.

“Hey.” 

“Yeah?”

“It’s kind of hot in here, don’t you think?”

“Is it?” Alfred wondered aloud, oblivious as always. “Maybe I should take a look at the thermostat.” 

Arthur rolled his eyes, setting down his cup of black tea. “You’re a bright one, aren’t you?”

Alfred beamed. “Hell yeah, I am!”

Arthur chuckled and ruffled his partner’s hair, tousling the sandy-blonde locks in a way that should have seemed patronizing but wasn’t. “Of course.” 

However, what was supposed to be an innocent little action turned into something different very quickly. Arthur’s finger got caught on the strange cowlick, evoking an unfamiliarly familiar feeling inside of Alfred. 

He was oblivious, yes, but not _that_ oblivious.

“W-wha—” Alfred’s entire body heated up. 

He didn’t understand. 

_Was that supposed to be an accident?_

_But— the cowlick isn’t even an erogenous zone, anyway. That doesn’t happen when anyone else touches it, so why…_

Unfortunately, the blush wasn’t the only thing to rise. 

Arthur’s eyes widened as he fought (and failed) to keep his gaze from dropping to Alfred’s lap. “Holy shit.”

Alfred pursed his lips, eyes darting back and forth. 

_I could just go to the bathroom. Go to the bathroom and take a long, cold shower._

_Or I could just take care of it by myself._

_But…_

_That doesn’t sound very fun._

“So…” Alfred trailed off, praying he didn’t have to explain and Arthur would be able to take the hint. “Now?”

Arthur stared for a few more seconds before nodding. “Now.” 

Suddenly, they were kissing again. 

It was hot and sweet and magical _—_ just like their romantic interlude back at Empire 103. 

It was everything he wanted. Everything he _needed._

And he absolutely _adored_ it. 

They broke apart for a brief moment to catch their breaths. 

“ _God_ ,” Arthur moaned between pants. “Alfred F. Jones, _I love you_.” 

“You wanna know what the ‘F’ stands for?”

“Well, then, allow me to try again.” Arthur cleared his throat. “Alfred _Fucking_ Jones. _I love you._ ” 

Alfred laughed and hugged Arthur even tighter, feeling an overwhelming sense of euphoria wash over him. “ _Freedom_ ,” he whispered. “ _It stands for freedom._ ”

Arthur responded, not hesitating for even a moment. “ _I think it’s safe to say you’ve found your freedom, now._ ” 

Alfred nodded. “ _I think so, too._ ” He scooped Arthur up into a bridal carry and practically _ran_ to the bedroom. 

* * *

“Wait,” Arthur said. 

Alfred waited. 

“Consent?”

Alfred nodded, his smile about a mile wide. “Granted.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, now it's _actually_ done.  
> I really enjoyed writing this little epilogue! I'll leave the rest of it to your imagination because I am physically incapable of writing smut. 
> 
> Check out some of my other stories, if you're interested:
> 
> Aces High (A Kakegurui-inspired Cardverse fic centered mainly centered around Romano):https://archiveofourown.org/works/27744277/chapters/67908862
> 
> Danse Bacchanale (An orchestra AU fic set in Paris that involves lots of denial, pining, and PruAus. Also, yes, I know how to spell. 'Danse' is French for 'Dance.'): https://archiveofourown.org/works/27403894/chapters/66977578
> 
> The World's Misadventures (A small group of fics in a modern-day AU centered around America and his perspective on the election and other major events in the American political sphere): https://archiveofourown.org/series/2060109


End file.
